


Ramblings of a Sharpshooter

by Future_Exalt



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 18:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Future_Exalt/pseuds/Future_Exalt
Summary: the story of an Exo and the things he would see others do to honor a murderer.





	1. Chapter 1

My name is Ryoma-5, and I have encountered a problem. 

Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you my obsession for everything outlaw. Old six-shooters, horses and spurs, boots, the whole nine yards. Jae has had it up to her head with all the busted, road-ragged Sparrows I bring in. Cheerwine assures me that these are all just circumstances of my first resurrection and my Gunslinger ways, but I genuinely believe this fascination has lingered on from my past life. In turn, every Gunslinger knows the tale of Shin Malphur and that terrible man who’s name I don’t even wish to repeat. Those who say they don’t are leading you on and probably want to scam you. I know; I’ve tried. 

Shin Malphur is a renegade. I say this in the best sense of the word- there is not a soul raised by the Traveler with a more furious love of the light than him. He stalks the farthest edges of our solar system, hunting monstrosities, and men who become monstrosities. Those who think they can follow Yor’s path without succumbing. He does the job no one wants. I attempt to emulate Shin as best I can; there’s few worthy of praise as much as he. My cannon is like his Last Word. An old piece of Tex Mechanica iron, simple yet decisively deadly. 

My problem is as follows. 

Like most Guardians, I dabble in the Crucible. I find it a great tool to learn tactics and figure out how Guardians react to a situation, so as to better myself against the bumbling buffoons that make up the enemies of Humanity. Seriously, I’ve seen Dregs take out an entire entrenchment of their own just from one bungled Shock Grenade toss. It’s hilarious. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Problem. 

I stood my ground. Another zone falls to our team’s offense, a relentless wave of lead, Light, and angry Titans decimating all that stand in our way. Shaxx roars over our feeds; something shouted in amazement, followed by asking if that was “all of them”. We take the few moments of relative peace to check our gear, rearm and reload, and breathe. We begin moving once again just as Shaxx calls that a zone has fallen. Several of my Titan teammates choose to take a more head-on approach, others choose to wait behind for their foolhardy friend’s corpses to soften up the defensive line so they can swoop in for the kill. I take the flank. This does not surprise anyone. 

From a far hallway I watch my teammates rush in to the other team’s defense, and a hail of gunfire erupts. I take advantage of the cacophonous racket and slip to the side of their bulwark, licks of flame dancing from my hand as I prepare to draw my Golden Gun. But I find myself unable to reach out to the Light. Not for lack of ability; I feel something. Something sinister. Horrible. Evil. It shatters my concentration. 

As soon as I see the cannon in the Hunter’s hand, it all makes sense. 

The gun was not so much of a marriage between Hive chitin and iron as it was a presence, or a force. Never in a place so full of the Traveler’s Light burning at their fullest have I felt such Darkness. Its owner stands from behind their teammate’s Ward and fires off three shots- three dreadful, awful, appalling barks that echoed off the arena’s walls and pierced my ears. I watch his target, one of our titans, fall to the earth in a pile. Amidst the chaos of calamitous titans rallying through my feed, I’m torn back into the fight as I clamber over my cover and level my cannon with the enemy line. Three more gut-wrenching shots ring out. 

The first hits my torso. It isn’t the same impact I expect from a regular round- immediately, I begin seeing Hive-green fogging up the corners of my vision, and I look down to the wound. I see no hole, but a gleaming obsidian dagger poking out of my chest. The second hits my head and bounces away, but fizzles my shields. There is no time to waste- I try not to think of the pain spreading through my body as I level my cannon once more, charging forward unto the breach. 

I never heard the third shot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Ryoma attempts to ascertain the identity of the hand cannon's wielder

We lost that match. I didn’t particularly care at the moment. I needed to know about the Hunter who carried that disgusting weapon. 

After the match was said and done, and the competitors had jumped back into their ships and set back off for parts unknown, I lingered in Nessus’ orbit for a time. It took little effort to find the match’s replay on VanNet. I had front-seat spectator access to our match, with camera angles from practically every corner of the Distant Shore. Every Striker smash, every Golden Gun shot- I may have lingered on my own for a bit too long, I’ll admit- and every shrieking report from the cursed gun. Pausing the feed, I zoomed in on the Hunter’s weapon. My suspicions were confirmed. 

He was carrying a dark replica of that horrible killer, Thorn. 

Immediately, I began cursing. “Who? Why? How?” It was not considered malicious to use one of the replicas of Thorn that had swarmed the Crucible before the Red War- somewhat suspect, yes, but those weapons didn’t hold the Darkness in the same way the original Weapon of Sorrow did. You could feel the malicious intent drip from the gun like corrupt ichor. I had certainly felt it- right in the middle of my forehead. I was slightly upset. 

When signing up for the Crucible, you are required to sign your name. It does not, for unknown reason, have to be your actual name. There are tongue-in-cheek Guardians who put on a show for the Crucible spectators with silly, over-the-top personas who collaborate with other Guardians to provide a form of coherent story outside the mindless mayhem of slaughtering your fellow man. I participated in this charade for about six months a decade or two ago as “King Midas”. I tell you this in confidence, as I have paid vast amounts of Glimmer to ensure every backup of those six months of matches has been wiped from Vanguard servers. Never speak of it to anyone. Anyhow, this Hunter stood out in our match’s scoreboards- not only for his name, but for the fact that he collected more kills than his entire team combined. 

“Dredgen Dey”. A dead giveaway. I was certain that Shin Malphur would be notified right away of someone choosing to emulate Yor, but I couldn’t be certain. Perhaps he was busy? Perhaps this was an isolated case- a Guardian who found another one of those old replicas and decided to have some fun with it. A joke. 

I used all of these as excuses to mask my true intent- I had felt Thorn’s dark power. Felt it rip at my Light, attempting to snuff it out. This was not only a mark on me, but on my honor. A scar on my Light. I couldn’t just sit there and let others fall to that weapon. Someone would meet their final death from the barrel of that gun, one day, if someone didn’t try to stop it. 

I volunteered myself. Traveller be damned if Shin Malphur would have some choice words for me. I threw my throttle forward, rocketing towards Earth. 

There starts the greatest hunt of my second life- the hunt for the man known as Dredgen Dey, and all the horrid things I would see other do to honor the dark legacy of Dredgen Yor.


End file.
